


Why the Reckless Survive

by SavvyLee



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Concussions, Drugs, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Language, My First Fanfic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-11-28 03:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavvyLee/pseuds/SavvyLee
Summary: The team at Chastain Memorial Hospital is suddenly faced with a gang-related situation gone completely chaotic. Devon must step up and keep Conrad alive...Conrad, who doesn't know that he's no longer in Afghanistan...and that Devon is absolutely NOT Conrad's Marine subordinate.High rating because I was quite liberal with the F-bomb.(Slow lead up to plot posted above)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction for any fandom. I'm a big fan of The Resident, in fact, I'm a huge fan of many other fandoms as well...but there are SO few Resident fan fictions, that I decided to help "be the change" or whatever. I'm challenging whomever reads this note to continue with a Resident fic of their own (Especially in the hurt/comfort field - because that's my jam, too). 
> 
> In this particular fic, you may note a lot of errors, some choppy writing, and maybe confusion. Please DO point it out, and be nice :) I'll go back and fix these errors as soon as possible. My plan is to post at least once/week. I have an outline for this story which includes a beginning, middle, and an end, but it is incomplete as of yet, so I appreciate your patience. 
> 
> For those of you willing to stick with me and wait for updates - you are all gems and greatly appreciated, if you would leave a comment for encouragement, that would also be appreciated!

The smell that assaulted Doctor Conrad Hawkins could not be rivaled. He stumbled as if encountering a physical wall.

Inside the patient room, nurse practitioner Nicolette Nevin methodically wrapped the wound of a fifty-two-year-old male. The patient pretended not to notice Conrad leaning against the far wall, one hand rubbing his ear, elbow up like a shield.

“Mr. King?” Conrad addressed, not dropping his arm.

“We’re just finishing up here, Doctor Hawkins.” Nic responded, too intent on her work to look his way.

Conrad glanced out into the ER, eyes watering. The dark-haired Doctor Jude Silva had been leaning against the nurse’s station, but he chose that moment to rest his judgmental eyes on Conrad.

“Mr. _Kiiiing_!” Conrad crooned, all smiles. He dropped his arm and walked towards the patient, losing visual of Jude. “I remember when you left two weeks ago with strict care instructions on that wound, what happened?”

Mr. King stuttered a bit before letting out a stream of excuses like a puttering engine.

“We will make sure you leave today with _especially_ detailed notes on self-care, my friend.” Conrad interjected as the man slowed the word vomit. The resident’s eyes flitted to the normal vital signs and neat wound care.

Nic finished and brushed passed Conrad with a grimace. She rolled her gloves off and tossed them in the bin on her way out.

Conrad excused himself quickly, jogging to catch up with Nic. “Nic!” He chirped, walking backwards in front of her, “It would be a shame if the rest of the hospital was subject to that smell – we – as in _you and I_ should take a shower as soon as possible.” He ducked his head to follow her line of sight, raising his eyebrows into a question.

“Wound care is a huuuuuuge mood killer, Conrad,” Nic replied with a smirk and an eyeroll, “plus I have a million charts to update right now.” She kept walking towards her desk, and Conrad let her, deftly turning around to head back to the ER.

“Right!” Conrad called over his shoulder, “more romantic over lunch…which is…in forty minutes. Got it!” He ducked down a dimly lit hallway, brimming with energy. On the walls of the hall were black and white pictures of Chastain Memorial Hospital back in the 40’s, and 50’s. Pictures faded into color the further Conrad walked.

Jude fell into step beside Conrad, pointing a file at him. “Remember the Korangal Valley?” the former soldier asked as if inquiring about the weather.

Conrad felt ice fly down his spine as he walked past the picture of a notable donor. “Which time?” He asked.

“Sergeant Lyons?”

“The kid with the sleeves?” Conrad kept walking, but his posture changed. Every step was a conscious heel-to-toe movement, his eyes flashed from the end of the hall to every closed door between.

“Always had his canteen wrapped in a fancy blue doily.” Jude confirmed. “Yeah, he shattered his pelvis and tore his left rotator cuff during some altercation. He’s in room 6. He hasn’t changed at all if you want to stop in and say ‘hey’.”

“It wasn’t a doily. It had something to do with his family.” Conrad mumbled with a sigh, then he hesitated, stopping in front of the nurse’s station, still stiff as if at attention. “Yeah, I’ll check in on him.” He finished.

Jude nodded, face unreadable, walking back the way they had come.

Conrad understood.

+

“Did you hear that?” Doctor Irving Feldman asked his unconscious female patient. Irving’s gloved hands hung over her lacerated leg with a dainty grip on metal tweezers. Tipping his head to one side, Irving let his eyes glaze over the white board on the wall, not caring that the pain scale smiles had been doodled over.

Chastain had her own machinic melody, cadence of humanity, the instrument table with the screaming wheel creating a harmony that Irving was certain his coworkers could sense just like him, even if they weren’t musically trained. Something was off like a maestro had stomped his way through a _leggierissimo e legatissimo _direction without a single – Irving set down the tweezers and grabbed the black thread to stitch the laceration. He’d shaken himself back to the present, blaringly bright lights unethically tiring his eyes. He breathed in antiseptic-infused foot smell. Do all medical professionals feel the opposite of healthy just by proximity to an emergency room?

Unable to say why, Irving spun to face the open curtain, still perched on his stool, thread in hand. From his vantage point he could see the ER in her entirety, Doctor Devan Pravesh animatedly typing a report from a standing desk on one side of the Nurse’s station, on the other side, Doctor Conrad Hawkins standing next to the nurse’s station with his brows furrowed loosely holding a file. Their eyes met briefly; knowing _something_.

Two dark cans clattered directly in front of Conrad’s boots.

The ER lit in a flash of white. Irving felt his knees hit the hard floor, but he couldn’t hear his own voice as his throat scratched out with a guttural yell. He should be seeing the blasé white floor, he should be able to see the cut of the tile obtuse with the patient’s curtain. Oh God. His patient. He could only see Conrad as if frozen, body basing into some sort of defensive crouch. Behind that image like a retinal tattoo, Irving began to see movement. He couldn’t pinpoint the start of tinnitus, but the piercing ringing in his ears rivaled his worst pubescent opera audition.

“…now! I said …hear me? …one!” The male voice shouted from under layers of blankets, fog, water…or gargling grapes? His mind went straight to a scene from Pygmalion.

Irving felt a rush of vertigo. His white embroidered coat cut under his armpit, someone twisted their fist into the material and hauled until Irving stood.

“.._up!_”

A post-apocalyptic version of Chastain’s ER began to swim in front of him, complete with a masked man on his right side, thumping his chest with the muzzle of a berretta. People were on the floor, burnt paper sinking through the air like ash. The gunman was spitting words at him. Irving blinked and the gunman had moved halfway across the room. There were fifteen flashbangs on the floor. No, maybe five. His left ear popped.

“There’s o2 in here. Watch the flames” Irving mumbled, feeling the words in his throat, only hearing them with one ear.

“Get that one under control.” Someone shouted. Two men rushed past Irving’s line of sight as if under a strobe light, one slammed his shoulder. Their leader sounded like James Earl Jones.

“Get the fuck off!” Conrad spat - his growl in Irving's ears loud and clear.

Irving could barely see Conrad’s feet arching into a kick, limbs flailing to grab anything close. He heard the moment Conrad’s tibia connected to a corner of the nurse’s station followed by a full-on animal roar. _Fuck. He’s blind._The two sent to take care of Conrad dodged his attack and restrained him quickly, one pulling him into a full-nelson, the other standing by with a – oh. Shit. Syringe.

“Conrad, don’t! They have – ” Dr. Devon Pravesh warned from the floor. He was lying on his stomach, one arm bent behind his back, held down by another man with a gun and a mask. Devon’s neck arched to see above the white tiles. Nic was lying next to him face up and completely limp. 

“I don’t think he can hear you.” Irving mumbled, another wave of shrieking tinnitus raised pitch in his right ear and disappeared entirely. He noticed blood on the floor under Nic's hair.

Conrad whipped his head back into the chin of the man restraining him and rolled backwards, twisting himself out and into a defensive stance. The move was impressive until the resident listed to the left and overcorrected, reaching his hands too far and smacking them on the floor.

Irving’s retinal tattoo recaptured Conrad in a similar defensive position. Irving blinked and the syringe was sticking out of the third-year resident’s neck, empty. Conrad fell forward, hands clapped over his ears with a groan, hitting his forehead on the tile. He limply rolled onto his side, the needle in his neck sticking straight up.

“Fuck.” Devon yelped. He turned his temple into the floor, scrunching his mouth in frustration. He blinked a few times, and then looked over at Irving, his face slacked in astonishment. “_What the fuck are you doing?_” He mouthed, eyes wide.

For the first time, Irving realized he was the only non-gang member standing, still holding the black thread and tweezers. Everyone else had been subdued on the floor, or were being manhandled into treatment rooms.

The Leader stood nearby pointing more men to the exit points, dumping actual cans of spray paint into a bag. Gesturing with his berretta. Completely ignoring Irving.

What the fuck, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Conrad awoke in the middle of a snore. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, throat as dry as a dessert. For a moment, he was back in Afghanistan, no breeze to move the flap of the medical tent, fatigues heavy on his sore body. The smell of blood and goat urine seeped into every stitch of clothing he owned. Something tickled his neck and trickled down the back of his head. The result of an IED? He slowly moved his hands and feet, relieved that they were still intact but – half of his left foot felt numb. Conrad’s eyes flew open, chest heaving, the fog of sleep rushing out as he gulped oxygen in.

  
“Hey, hey! stop.” Devon’s hand fell heavy on Conrad’s shoulder, another hand grabbed his opposite hip. “Conrad, you were drugged. Calm down. Dammit!”  
Conrad let his head fall back to the floor, pain spiking through his eyes as his skull connected with the tiles. His nervous system sent shivers from his head straight to his gut, and then Devon had him rolled to one side, head cradled on the first year’s knee.  
Devon ran his fingers through Conrad’s hair as he puked.  
“Shit. There it is.” Devon explained as his fingers felt around a stabbing lump over Conrad’s right ear. There was no aggression in his profanity.  
“Need an MRI.” Conrad rasped the order and spat. He kept his eyes squeezed shut against round two. Oh, how he hated the sequence of throwing up. Judging by the instant return of nausea it felt sickly familiar. A concussion.  
“Can’t.” Devon moved his hand down to grip Conrad’s shoulder, interrupting his mental crisis. “We have to stay put, OK? Hopefully this will be done soon. I still don’t know what they drugged you with.”  
Drugged. Conrad turned his head to bury his face into Devon’s thigh. “Wa’s going on?” He slurred heavily against his coworker's scrubs. One instant his mind was delving deep into the abstract musings in between throwing up - the next he could barely lift his head, or force himself to not drool on his impressionable First Year. He could feel Devon shifting, then gently mopping up the vomit with a towel. Conrad could still only smell blood and goat urine. He curled his arms close to his chest as tremors started fluttering through all of his muscles. Side-laying made him feel the chill of the room. Fuck this was not how he wanted to be an influence. This reminded him too much of his final tour. Pravesh even looked like his buddy Williams when he squinted.  
“I don’t know.” Devon finally replied. “It’s definitely gang related. I think a member needed surgery.” He squinted back at Conrad, then reached for something on a counter behind them.  
“Mina? AJ?” Conrad questioned. He was answered with a light stabbing his eye, setting off a chain reaction.  
"Hands down." Devon barked.  
"I'm gonn-" Conrad groaned. He found his strength suddenly, all at once, just to tip over the side of Devon's thigh and heave spit on the floor.  
“I don’t know.” Devon answered softly in the aftermath, now bracing Conrad's head and shoulder like it was perfectly normal for his mentor to be violently sick in such close proximity. Devon let the veteran catch his breath, again shifting his weight to run fingers through the man’s hair, this time for comfort.  
Conrad’s dog tags had fallen from his scrubs to rest near Devon’s knee. The metal tags reflected blue from the light of a monitor.  
The two residents were in a dark treatment room with no bed. Devon’s profile was backlit by the hall light shining through a closed glass door. They were alone, and beyond the hum of machines, silence controlled the rest of the hospital.  
“There are twelve men,” Devon mused, “all armed. All wearing the same color bandanas. They’ve locked down the ER. They came in with stun grenades, blacked out the cameras, and took any phone, radio, or pager they could find. They have a plethora of hostages and are currently negotiating with the police – but they’ve been pretty open with us that they’re just buying time for a surgery. They let the most critical hostages go. At least.”  
“Ok, I refuse to lie here and do nothing. Where are we?” Conrad asked, feeling his strength return with each throb of a headache. He winced as he turned his head to survey the dark room. Had that stack of books always been tucked into the corner? “Where’s Staff Sergeant Hanson?” The Marine in front of him stiffened and blinked, moonlight shining through a rip in the medical tent and highlighting the whites of his dark eyes.  
“Conrad?” Williams asked with his head tipped. The question was posed in his most annoying tone. The kind of tone the kid had used previously to question his orders. Yes, the kid was technically higher ranking – but in any medical emergency Conrad would have authority.  
It is also up to Conrad what is a medical emergency and what isn’t.  
“No. I’m certain I can figure that out, myself.” Williams quipped.  
Oh shit. Didn’t mean to say that out loud. Conrad gritted his teeth and rolled forward. Dehydration was a bitch, and that IED had gone off far too close to be OK – but they had a mission.  
“Let’s get home safe, Williams.” Conrad reached a hand to help Williams stand. That last MRE was so dry his tongue felt like he’d been sucking on a salt block.  
The kid had the audacity to ignore him and stand, facing him with the oddest expression.  
“Where do you think you are?” He asked slowly.  
“We’re not in the TOC anymore, Dumbass. We’re on a mission.” Conrad replied with a smile. “If we don’t get back to the Green Zone by midday, plan on getting sun-boiled or fragged.” The senior resident watched the kid’s mouth drop. “Get it together, Williams.” Conrad clapped his fellow Marine’s shoulder, looking over towards the opening in the tent.  
“Oh. Holy shit, Afghanistan.” Williams commented. “Conrad. You. Are. Not. In – ”  
Conrad heard the boots before Williams. “Down.” He snarled, shoving the kid’s neck down, and ducking himself. “No talking. They took my weapon.”  
“Thank God.” Dr. Devon Pravesh whispered sarcastically. “They took mine, too.”

+

Sometime before the chaos…  
Nurse Practitioner Nicolette Nevin prodded her chin with a blue pen, re-reading the electronic chart in front of her. The patient had diabetic…pre diabetic… a previous issue with hypoglycemia… the medical history swirled in front of her as she imagined the breeze outside lifting her blond hair… gracing her nose with notes of cinnamon. Oddly specific.  
“When you are done sniffing me, will you tell me the status of my patient?” Doctor Mina Okafor asked politely, leaning over the counter almost nose to nose with Nic.  
Nic’s blue eyes opened to stare directly into Mina’s dark ones.  
Mina’s face outlined with an understanding smile. “The room is empty. Where is my patient?” She asked again.  
“The gentleman in room 2204 was taken to radiology.” Nic replied, then inhaled deeply. More importantly “Why do you smell so good?”  
“I was baking.” Mina replied with no further explanation. “Why do you smell so bad?”  
Nic’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t ask.” She stood up and stretched, her vertebrae popping. An aid walked past her wheeling a food cart. “ugh.” Nic groaned. “I didn’t bring my lunch. I think I’ll see if I can bribe Conrad into paying.”  
Around the nurses’ station, medical professionals bustled through Chastain’s sunny halls. A nurse helped a patient ease into her wheelchair, and a custodian wheeled a trash bin around the corner.  
“Use the floral scented body wash – food scents don’t mix as well with your chemistry.” Mina suggested with a side-eye.  
Nic hesitated for a moment before grabbing her bag. “That is helpful Mina, thank you?” She said with a question, wondering if Mina could read minds. Nic swung the bag over her shoulder, but Mina blocked her path.  
“The floral scent can be mutually beneficial as it mixes well with both of your body chemistries.” Mina informed with a tip of her head. “Just trying to be helpful.” She turned and walked away, hands in pockets.  
Nic watched her leave for a beat, pursing her lips against a massive grin. She turned and hurried in the opposite direction towards the ER. A young resident with a ready smile on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mahalo for the kudos!  
I appreciate all the people who took the time to read the launch of "Why the Reckless Survive".  
Again, open to any comments - but if you're more like me and are waiting until the completion, I understand.


	3. Chapter 3

Conrad was out of his ever-loving mind. The former Navy Greenside Corpsman had dragged Devon out of the treatment room where they had _originally been thrown into at gunpoint _and ordered not to move. Yes, there had been a brief scramble – which ended as both men shushed the other. Devon considered how long it had been since he’d harsh-whispered the words; _no, YOU shut up!_

Grade school?

The pair crouched behind the skeletal structure of a standing computer desk – only capable of hiding a praying mantis. Lights along the hallway had been shut off, but a few near the exits remained on.

Afternoon sunlight spilled a rectangle behind the two residents, giving their familiar Chastain a sleepy, golden glow that could have been pleasant under other circumstances.

“All right, we’ll split up. You take the alley to the west -” Conrad began in a low growl.

“Absolutely not.” Devon stated evenly. “We’re not splitting up. You need medical attention” he pointed left “and that is a hallway.”

Conrad gave him the side-eye with zero concept of personal space. He bit his lip as Devon stared back.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The first year reiterated.

Conrad clapped a hand on Devon’s shoulder, pushing him behind the senior resident. The veteran dropped into a lower crouch, keeping one hand on Devon, one hand poised forward, head tilted as if listening.

Devon heard nothing. He knew he should be more compassionate. Knew exactly what was going on with Conrad – even personally knew how PTSD could change someone drastically. Conrad would need to get help after this. Who knows what was happening due to the concussion alone? The truth was Devon was royally pissed and he was not in the mood to get past that yet.

Conrad grabbed Devon’s scrub top and yanked him up behind him. He proceeded with a hunched jog, always keeping Devon close behind him.

The pair entered a second treatment room, Conrad sweeping the room thoroughly with his eyes before nodding at Devon. “Clear.” Conrad whispered.

Devon stood back to give the other man space, but Conrad nodded to the next room.

“We’ve got to keep going, Williams.” Conrad said softly. “I know you’re tired, but we can’t stop now.” The senior resident seemed to gather enthusiasm from the sight of Devon’s slumped shoulders. “Come on, Kid, you clear the next tent. You could do this in your sleep.” He gave Devon a winning smile. 

Devon pressed forward, ignoring both the fact that Conrad was bouncing on his heels _and _that he called the treatment room a ‘tent’. _What exactly was Conrad seeing?_

The next room housed Nurse Hundley, crouching in the corner with three children. They looked Indian with dark hair and huge, scared eyes. Devon’s heart stuttered in sympathy.

“Friendlies.” Devon called back to Conrad. He hoped that was the correct lingo.

Conrad entered the room and pulled the door almost closed, keeping an eye outside. “Devon, replace me at the opening, I’ll check for injuries.” He turned towards the children and swayed left.

Devon caught Conrad easily and slowed his decent to the floor, gently rolling the resident on his side. Again, Devon laid Conrad’s head on his knee. This time Devon brought the penlight he'd stashed and checked pupillary response.

“Conrad?” Devon asked loudly, grateful for Nurse Hundley’s swift presence. She was checking pulses in both of his wrists. Conrad didn't respond. 

“Can you squeeze my hands, Doctor Hawkins?” Nurse Hundley asked calmly.

“’Sss. Argent.” Conrad slurred, his eyes crossed, then rolled back.

Devon immediately braced Conrad’s head, fearing he might have a seizure, but after only a brief pause, the resident sucked in a deep breath, then blinked at the light.

“Ow!”

“Okay,” Devon didn’t let go of his head, even though Conrad tried to paw him off.

Nurse Hundley kept hold of his arms.

“_Okay_” Devon said again “I know you want to run off and play hero, but you very well could have a brain bleed here…I _saw_you hit your head, and I _know_that you think you’re in Afghanistan – but you’re not.”

Conrad froze. He’d been smirking before, his own _annoying_smirk that popped up for anything, everywhere, but now his face was blank. He stared into the oldest child’s dark eyes, a terrified expression clouding any reaction to Devon’s words. He sat up, slowly, facing the child.

The girl pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, flushing a little at the sudden attention. Not sure what to do with it, she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Her sister and brother huddled around her, one sucking his thumb.

“Doctor Hawkins?” Nurse Hundley asked, sharing a confused glance with Devon. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“The Korangal Valley.” Conrad said. “I know who they’re operating on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter here. Hopefully I can continue the trend of 2x posts per week instead of 1x post per week. I'm happy that I've gotten kudos! Thank you!! Hopefully I'm inspiring some more fanfiction writers to write in The Resident category. :) Especially hurt/comfort. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Trigger warning for this chapter including graphic depiction of violence...or suggestion thereof, involving a child/children. Sadness warning. PTSD warning (although that's more throughout the story).

Some time had passed since Conrad had thought of the Afghani girl’s wide, dark eyes. The little girl couldn’t see him, he knew, even though her eyes were staring into his as he ran, carrying her. He had tripped and he refocused back to the path in front of them. She’d just witnessed her older brother explode… she couldn’t possibly see or think about anything else, but she wouldn’t stop staring at Conrad. Her fragile arms tucked around his neck, one leg bound with a tourniquet. She didn’t blink. Didn’t cry. Her breathing even and calm. Conrad focused on the terrain. The run. Getting her to safety. He glanced down to her one more time.

Suddenly her eyes turned blue and Lily stared back at him.

“The Korangal Valley?” Devin’s voice pushed through.

Conrad blinked back into the present, now lying back on the floor with his feet elevated, Nurse Hundley directing her finger across his vision. His eyes delayed tracking the finger, and he swallowed against a rush of vertigo.

Taking a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, Conrad grit his teeth. Never had it been this bad. The blood and goat urine were on the tip of his senses. He curled his hands into fists.

“Brad Lyons was in my unit.” Conrad began, eyes closing. He was grateful Nurse Hundley and Devon weren’t making him get up. He wished Nic was there. “He had been in a gang – I don’t remember the name of it, but some cousin of his was the gang leader. He was always wearing the colors even when that got him in trouble.”

Conrad slowly folded his legs under him and sat up, Devon’s arm glued to his back the whole time.

“Lyon’s isn’t here by accident.” Conrad mused. “I don’t know how this all fits into place – but none of this is a coincidence. We find Lyons, we find answers.” He rolled himself up to one knee, still unsteady.

“No.” Devon answered sharply.

The three children in the corner blanched, Nurse Hundley narrowed her eyes at Devon.

“We let them operate. We make sure no one dies.” Devon finished.

Conrad squinted at him, “We make sure this situation is _contained_, but to do that we need answers. I’ll go myself.”

“Doctor Hawkins, you are not going anywhere alone.” Nurse Hundley snapped. This time, both Devon and Conrad winced. “If you can walk in a straight line, take Doctor Pravesh with you.”

Devon scrambled to his feet between Conrad and the door. “They have _guns_.” Devon reminded everyone in the room. “They should be on their way as soon as the surgery is over with. Until then we should stay put. Never mind Conrad’s current mental state.”

“There were possible casualties in the ER when they came in.” Conrad said, pulling himself up to stand. He managed to cross his arms and look completely, frustratingly normal by sheer determination. “Who knows what they’ve done with everyone else? Are you really willing to wait them out when we’ve got patients who need us to do our jobs?”

Devon stared at the children for .2 seconds longer than Conrad had patience for.

“No.” Devon said, eventually. “But you’re in no shape to go be James Bond, either.” He uncrossed his arms and stepped into Conrad’s space. “I’m your Doctor, and you follow my lead. If _walking_ is too much for you, then taking out a gang is out.” He pointed to the other side of the room. “There and back. Now.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Conrad complained, quite predictably. He mistakenly looked over to Nurse Hundley, who nonverbally told him what _she_ didn’t have time for.

Unpredictably, Conrad walked to the end of the room and back, meek until the last step when he threw his hands up in triumph. “Ok Pravesh, on me.” Conrad said and walked right past him through the door.

“Unbelievable.”

Dr. Devon Pravesh knew the hospital like the back of his hand. He’d worked long enough as a resident to know the subtleties of Conrad Hawkins as well. With his usual energy, Conrad jogged and ducked behind linen bins and into patient rooms, clearing each one and giving aid as quietly as possible. Devon himself could feel eyes on the back of his neck, his hairs raised in a constant warning at every noise. He did not miss the way Conrad kept patting his scrubs by his waist…like he was missing a pack.

“When this is over,” Devon whispered, “I want to be present in your therapy sessions.”

Conrad shot him a look from the open door of a patient room. Inside the room, Devon had been wrapping a fractured arm until it was immobile, so the 24-year-old male wouldn’t cause further damage to his arm.

“I want to know how crazy awesome this _Williams_ character is.” Devon explained.

Conrad’s face melted into a smirk and didn’t offer an explanation.

“We have to keep moving, Dr. Pravesh,” Conrad urged, “I think he’s in the next room over.”

The patient hugged his bound arm to his chest, thin beads of sweat gathered on his pale upper lip.

“Try not to move it.” Devon advised the patient, then scrambled to get back to Conrad.

Conrad and Devon circled out of the room and crouched on either side of room 6. For a moment, both of them listened, staring straight at each other. No gang members were patrolling this hallway. They hadn’t encountered a single member since Conrad first woke up. Devon considered it was about an hour ago since they had heard footsteps in the hall.

Conrad had his hand up, counting fingers, _3…2…1…_

They opened the door and ducked inside, Devon brandishing his stethoscope. The room was empty.

+

Conrad walked to the unkept bed in the middle of Room 6. “Jude said he was in here.” He muttered.

Devon bent down to pick up a discarded wrist band with the name ‘Lyons, Bradley’. “Let’s think this through.” Devon mused. “Why did you think Lyons would be sticking around if he were a part of the big picture?”

“I don’t know.” Conrad said. “He’s my brother – I had to hear it from his mouth, give him the benefit of the doubt, you know?”

Devon nodded, slowly. “You said he put the gang life above the Marines, even when you served together?”

Conrad’s eyes looked distant, staring off into the dark monitor next to the bed. “He seemed changed after.” He stared directly at Devon. “There’s twelve guys total? Where the hell are they?”

The two turned back towards the door. They hadn’t checked surgery because of the assumption that it would be heavily guarded… but Room 6 was the closest room to surgery that they had.

Both jumped as the door swung open and Doctor Mina Okafor walked in. She had a baseball bat slung over one shoulder, blood stains on one side. She eyed both of them suspiciously before closing the door behind her.

“Both of you need to keep your voices down.” She advised bluntly.

Both of them let out a long sigh of relief, Devon grabbing on to the patient bed and leaning into it like the furniture was the only thing holding him up.

“Mina.” Conrad spoke up, stepping towards her. “What do you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies of the length of time between chapters. Life got to me!
> 
> Update: Chapter has been lengthened!

**Author's Note:**

> This is not an Irving-centric fic. He just begged to have his own POV section.


End file.
